


For the Right Reasons

by Sephypsycologist



Series: Original Stories [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Necromancy, Not scary, Skeletons, Zombies, but good guy kind of necromancy?, peace finding necromancy?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephypsycologist/pseuds/Sephypsycologist
Summary: A cleric becomes disillusioned with organized worship and leaves their order. They're going to change the world for the better, and they're starting in a graveyard.





	For the Right Reasons

I never intended to be a ‘necromancer’. 

No, I intended to be a normal cleric, away from the confusing world of other humans, in the comforting embrace of faith and my lord, Joran, whose comfort had been with me since before I became conscious of myself.

But in my training as an acolyte I saw things, heard things, that broke my trust. The other trainees cavorted like hormone crazed teenagers, the priests were taking bribes and favors, the nuns all gossiped like so many old biddies that they were…I was done.

So I went to the library and secluded myself in study. Books and scrolls and the history of ages were far more trustworthy than the various beings around me. But this was what led to my eventual departure from the church, as I became more and more disillusioned with life among others.

Taking my notes and enough food to live on till the next town, I left the training temple in the glow of a midnight moon. My affinity for the night had made the others unnerved, and my compassion for the ghosts and restless dead of our world outright ostracized me. A cleric is supposed to abhor the undead, not wish to help them.

That is not the tenets as I understand them, though. Joran dictates kindness, love, and utmost care for those in need. Who is more in need than a ghost with no hope of rest, or a vampire trapped by their desires and denied the sun? Who needs our understanding more than someone trapped between our world and the next?

So I traveled, my white robes becoming soiled and worn, until I was far from the sanctuary and in the depths of the countryside. I’d lived on the kindness of various strangers, giving them heartfelt blessings and good wishes for their hospitality, until I found it.

A decrepit chapel, close to falling to nature’s whim, with an unkempt churchyard to the side. In the day, there was no activity here, of course, but I could see the glimmer of ectoplasm residue on several of the gravestones. Yes, this is what was calling me out on this journey. I had come home at last.

I stepped inside gingerly, the crumbling stone of the steps needing repair if I planned to remain here. Vines hung from the stones, their tendrils working them loose even as they held them in place. “Much work to do around here…” I sigh softly, but smile. I love the smell of the old wood beams, the echo of my steps on the stone floor as I enter the chapel. There are a few holes in the roof, all easily repaired, and the main sanctuary was empty of seating.

The great emptiness is soothing, reassuring that there is no judgement here and I am free to practice my faith and my powers as I please. Making my way back, I find the modest sleeping quarters for the former priest of this church. A mouse-nest bed, which will need a new mattress and maybe new slats beneath, but the room itself was intact, as were the table and writing desk beside the slightly cracked window.

This was my home.

I can’t express the powerful feeling of rightness about this place. It was absolutely like walking into my childhood house, though I had never been to this church before, nor had any other human for at least fifty years by my estimation. I couldn’t help but smile, and cry, and laugh. It felt so good.

\--

I felt their presences as soon as I returned from town in the early twilight. I’d picked up the necessary items for the first wave of repairs to the church, with what little money I had, and it’d taken me all day to drag my pallet back.

The steps being worn and low helped me get it up them, and I sat them in the center of the sanctuary even as the tingling of ghosts nearby grew. “Okay, hey guys.” I say as I pant and recover, leaning on my pile of boards, “I’m Kathleen. I’m an independent cleric of Joran, and I’m here to help you finish your business and move on. This stuff is just to close up the holes and make it safe for me to live here while I help you all, however many there are. I’m gonna sleep in the priest’s room, and even though I know you guys probably wouldn’t hurt me, I’m gonna put up some wards just to make sure. Please don’t touch them, or you might get hurt.”

No answer, of course, but the buzzing has stabilized. “I’ll leave these here, then go set up my wards and my tent in the room. I’ll start helping you once I can gather ingredients for the ritual.”

My neighbors are silent, and I get up to go prepare my room.

\--

I dumped the old mattress outside this morning, and the slats were fine, so I only have to get a new cover mattress. Anti-ghost wards were simple enough, and sticking two layers of it to the door ensured the room was safe to sleep in. I’d warned them, so there was no blame on me if one of them got zapped and spent a couple of days out of commission.  
Setting up my tent was easy, being practiced at it from my time on the road, but it felt strange doing so indoors. Childhood memories of blanket tents sprang up, and I smiled as I unrolled my sleeping bag inside. Sleep found me as I recalled the safety and peace of my mother’s voice.

\---

I’m not too sure of the time when I woke, since it was cloudy out, but I walked into the sanctuary and found my supplies unharmed but scattered all over the sanctuary.  
“Ah. Well, thank you for not breaking anything, at least,” I mutter as I begin picking up my things I’ll need for today. It’s hard not to be irritated, but I can ease myself with the knowledge that anybody’d mess with someone’s stuff if they were mischievous enough.

Today’s work was to make sure the structure of the church was sound enough, so I’d be fixing the steps as well as doing any repairs on the walls that were needed (like removing the vines and re-securing the stones, for instance).

But it wasn’t going to be easy, especially since I was doing it alone….or was I?

I knew I could fix the steps alone, and get rid of the vines, but things like resetting the stones, reaching and fixing the roof, and fixing the windows were going to be much more challenging alone. Maybe, if the ghosts didn’t mind too much, they would help before finishing their earthly business?

I knew it was a stretch, but, on top of being worried about my safety in the old building, I was also lonesome. It was clear from my excursion yesterday that the townsfolk around here were the superstitious types and they didn’t like a ragged ex-cleric like me inhabiting space near them. They wouldn’t want to be friends, either.

So I went to work, clearing the vines, but I spoke to the spirits. Even if the sunlight made them less active, they were still there. “You guys are gonna get help pretty soon, y’know. I have my notes, and once I get the ingredients I need, we’ll get to work on helping you finish your business.” 

The buzzing of energy stayed at its low, daytime level, but I could sense several presences listening.

“I can only do one at a time, though. I don’t want to try more than that for risk of damaging your souls since I never completed my vows or got any advanced training.”

This made the presences draw even nearer, and I sighed, “Look, I know you’d rather have a full on cleric, and if it was up to me, I’d give you one, but for some stupid reason,” I looked over the graves and felt my heart sting, “they either don’t believe in you, or they want you destroyed rather than saved. So you’ve got me instead. But I swear, I’ll do my best for you all. You deserve a chance at peace.”

For the rest of the day, as I babble on about my life and random topics, I can feel them around me. They aren’t menacing, and they don’t interfere with what I’m doing, but they’re there and it’s….nice. It’s nice to feel someone around that likes hearing me talk, and is interested in what I’m doing, and even if I can’t see them, I know they’re around.

“I think I could get used to you guys, y’know?” I chuckled as I finish repaving the steps. “Once I get the vines off, I’m going to go find a spring for a bath, but I’d appreciate some privacy at that time. But feel free to come back around when I go back in to study my notes, alright? We’re going to be cohabitating for a long while, so I’d like us to be friends.”

The presences back off, but the buzz around the graveyard is warm and welcoming now. The fact I acknowledged them, and talked to them like normal people, seems to have made them happy with me.

The vines don’t take long, though I do have some close calls with loose stones that come out with them. All in all, it’s now mid afternoon and I’m ready for my bath. I head back through the churchyard and into the woods around, feeling pretty certain there’s water nearby. It was one of the few talents I’d picked up from an elf in the trainee barracks, being able to find water reliably.

The spring I found was coming from a rock, and the whole set up around it looked undisturbed. And that made me nervous enough to just go back to the church for a bucket and bathe in the basin behind the pulpit. You don’t get naked and bathe in a spring that looks that sacred, or you’ll end up being the new bride of some god or goddess. Or you get smote, and that’s not fun either.

But all that aside, I got clean and was able to get to my notes. There was just a basic circular prayer, beginning and ending with the same line, but the ingredients were going to be difficult.

Holy water from the Purest Spring, which was at the main temple all the way in the capital, the blood of a willing virgin, and a white Sangbloom, all of those things needed to be done over the grave of a ghost who WANTS to finish their business and move on.

“Whoo boy, guys,” I murmur as the buzzing feeling of the ghosts returns, getting stronger as the sun sets. “This might be harder than I thought. The Sangbloom probably grows near here, if there’s any open farmland, though a white one is rare….still, it’s a natural mutation, not like I have to do any big spells on the poor thing.”

There’s a shifting, and I see a paper blow into the window. It seemed to be an ad for a local ranch, advertising prime beef cattle. The slightly sticky and numbing gel on the corner is clearly ghostly in origin.

“You’re helping me? Hahaha, well, I guess it can be a two-way street if you want. And yeah, a cattle farm is the perfect place to find Sangbloom. And as good a place to start as any, too. Thank you.”

There’s just one of them around when I get ready for bed again, an occasional chill on my arms, but not showing themselves. “I’m about to set up the wards, friend. I appreciate the company, but I don’t want you trapped in here all night, alone. Maybe make sure your mischievous friend doesn’t mess up my supplies again, if you want something to do?”

I feel almost covered in a cold wet blanket, but it’s over quickly and then the presence is gone. I think that might have been my first ghost hug.

\--

Heathfield ranch was farther out of town than my chapel.

I knew the smells of a farm, memories of my grandfather’s lowing cattle being brought fresh to my mind…and also the lingering fear of large animals. It was nothing against the beasts behavior, but something so big could easily murder me if it chose, and even a worm will turn.

But these cows were far in the pasture, and only the earthy, nose-wrinkling cow pies were near the farmhouse. An old man sat on the porch, and he laughed a big, country laugh, “You’re one’a them academic types, ain’t cha? Fancy robe an’ a look of disgust at the clean scents of the country. I seen your type before. What’cha want?” Yes, his words were harsh, but he had a toothless smile and a twinkle of teasing in his wrinkled brown eyes.

“I do prefer the indoor life, yes,” I don’t mind admitting it. It takes all types, after all. “but I’m here on the business of asking permission to gather herbs for my rituals from your pastures?”

“Well, that depends,” the old timer sighed and stood, “which kinda cleric are ya?”

“I am an unaffiliated follower of Joran.”

He nods and opens the gate for me, “You’re always welcome then, young’n. Anybody who’d get as far as that robe before skedaddlin’ from the fancy pants bunch is a good soul an’ pretty darn determined to do the right thing. I’m more partial to Martriza, myself, but your Lord and my Lady work hand in hand more often than not.”

I beam, a wave of thank you’s leaving my mouth as I step through the gate. Martriza is the patron goddess of the poor, the land, and agriculture in general, besides a few other aspects, and yes, she often guides her people to mine to find help and kindred spirits.

“Oh shoot, don’t mention it. I just ask ya come and say hi when ya get y’r plants’n things. Cows ain’t exactly good company when ya want ta talk. Call me Peter.” I shook his leathery, rough hand, feeling the strength still in it despite his white hair. Never underestimate a farmer, especially if they’re still in their overalls.

So Peter’s land became my herb garden, so to speak.

White Sangbloom, just like its vibrant red counterpart, loves land that is cared for and worked with respect. The magical flower blooms white on occasion when the plant dictates it, or when it is in an area where the land loves its caretaker just as much. The ground itself has a sense to it, and it can tell you if you’re welcome or not.

Knowing this, when I did find the flowers, I knelt (a few inches away from a nearby cow chip) and asked, “Please allow me to take these blooms in the name of Joran, that they may be used for good.”

I didn’t move till I felt an ease come over my heart. Once you enter the world of the divine, into the knowledge of it, you know when to show your respect.

I gathered enough for the ritual (and a few cuttings to plant and try to tend for future use) but left the rest untouched. No use in greed; it won’t fill holes in your soul but it will make new ones.

Peter insisted I stay for a bite, sharing a simple cheese and meat sandwich with me. I don’t eat meat, usually, but it was a warm sandwich and the tastes blended well. Besides, my host wanted to talk about his grandchildren, how they’d all chosen to live in the bigger towns to get more opportunity for adventure or fame or glory, and how only one bothered to try and learn farming. How his only child, his son, had become a banker, and it was the youngest of that son’s five children, and only daughter, that had taken up the life.

“Thought for sure one’a th’ boys woulda taken an interest in it, but there’s no tellin’ with kids now-a-days. Now you, you’re doin’ honest work still, workin’ for your Lord an’ all on your own. You’re doin’ it for the sake of faith, and I can’t rightly complain at that. But all that money and hollerin’ about interest and loans and deeds to properties….no, that’s not a place for a good person. My son’s fine, small town banking, but the kids are all trying for ‘better’ things, not realizin’ they’re losin’ themselves in the process.” Peter shook his head, and sighed. “Anyway, young’n, thanks for listenin’ and breaking bread with an old codger like me. What’d you say your name was? Kathleen?”

“Yes sir,” I like Peter. He’s the kind of person you don’t see often, locked in the cloisters. The kind of person who has lived his life how he saw fit, and he saw fit to do it kindly.

“Well, Kathy, you come by any ol’ time, whether ya need some plants or not.” He got up and showed me to the door with a smile.

I made sure to write him into my notebook where I keep a list of good people I’ve met. It helps me when I feel dismayed and confused about the state of the world, and it reminds me who to pray extra hard for. I want good things for good people.


End file.
